


Something 101

by inthisdive



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:09:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3320219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inthisdive/pseuds/inthisdive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-series; the boys are in college. Byron’s off to make it in the big wide world: UCLA, specifically. Running into an old friend? Kind of meant to be, perhaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something 101

When Byron had decided to go to UCLA, he had thought mostly of the film theory program and the beaches. He really hadn’t thought of the Schafers or sun-drenched boys smelling of sea-salt (well, he had, but only in the abstract, never the familiar), and he hadn’t thought of someone he only barely remembered from a childhood that was so long ago it felt like a past life. 

And then at 11am on Wednesday morning, Theory of Film, someone slipped into the seat beside him, nudged his arm as he settled in, and mumbled a “Sorry, man. Don’t they want to give us any room? Geeze, we’re sardines.”

When Byron looked over and saw the faded resemblance in the new face – the cheeks were thinner now, the lips fuller, the eyes more knowing – strings tugged at his memory. He _knew_ him.

When the lightning bolt settled and left his stomach quietly churning, Byron’s throat scratched out a whispered “No problem – hey. Don’t I know you?” 

Jeff looked up and Byron went still, because the way Jeff did it was arresting: he looked up from under his hair, this curtain of sandy-blonde and when he blinked, his lashes were suddenly the most important thing in Byron’s whole world. His eyes huge, he noticed. His eyes were important, too. 

“ _Do_ you know me?” Jeff whispered, running a hand through that hair, that slightly-too-long hair, and suddenly his eyes were easier to see, easier for Byron to marvel at.

Byron nodded, cleared his throat, and looked down. Talking was… an issue. 

Seeming to follow along, Jeff leaned over and picked up Byron’s notebook from his lap (Byron closed his eyes at the hand-on-denimed-thigh and tried not to sigh), flicking it open and uncapping his pen to scrawl, smiling, _How?_

_Your sister was friends with my sister_ , Byron scribbled back in usual, self-conscious cursive. _Mallory Pike – that’s my sister’s name_. He was curving in close to Jeff to write along; he smelled a little like avocado.  
Jeff grinned. _Which one are you?_ he wrote, and Byron took a moment to study his handwriting, his slightly block-y print. 

_One of the triplets_ , Byron scribbled, and when he looked up he noticed Jeff sneaking a glance in his direction. Probably, he reasoned, to try and identify him further. 

_Byron, Jordan, or the other one?_

Byron had to smirk, hearing even in his head Adam’s protestations over being the ‘forgotten’ triplet. It felt nice to be one of the remembered ones, for once. It felt nice to know that he was one that Jeff had remembered, and remembered first, especially since Jeff looked like _that_ these days. Byron tapped his pen against his name on the page, and he looked over at Jeff, shooting him a smile. 

Jeff grinned and leaned over, close, to whisper in Byron’s ear. “Well. Hi again,” were the words that Byron knew he’d replay later in his dorm room when his roommate was out, mulling the words over and over. 

Suddenly, Byron was so grateful he’d won that scholarship. He was so grateful it took him here, even though it had also taken him away from his brothers. This was better than he had ever thought. 

While he was basking in gratitude, Jeff was writing again: _miss me?_ scrawling across a new page, taking up seemingly all the space. 

Byron grinned, shrugged, mouthed ‘maybe’ – and then had to stifle laughter when Jeff broke into mime, clutching his chest and wiping imaginary tears off his cheeks. When he stopped the almost-academy-award-winning routine and turned to look expectantly at Byron, Byron just looked back at him with a cheerful shrug. 

Grabbing Byron’s hand, Jeff’s pen scrawled _I missed YOU_ over the prickly-sensitive skin, and his blonde hair fell back over his eyes as he shook with the effort of hiding his laughter. 

Byron aimed a soft kick at Jeff’s foot, reached for Jeff’s forearm – bold, now, nothing like a little teasing to cover up, well, the rest of it – and drew a heart, writing _maybe_ , the letters small and cramped.

“Bastard,” Jeff whispered, and this time Byron did laugh – quietly, like a short bark before it could be suppressed, attracting the attention of a few people around them but, luckily, not the professor. 

As he laughed, he caught Jeff’s eye – and saw something in his expression that pleased him, an edge not unlike the one Byron felt when he looked at him. It was comforting; it also made him giddy. It made him – yeah, blame that – prod Jeff’s neck gently with the cap of his pen, and it was with quiet satisfaction that Byron watched Jeff’s hand lift to scratch at his neck, studying his long fingers and lanky grace.

Byron noticed Jeff noticing him noticing, but just shrugged and smiled. So what? This was college. Noticing was just fine, thank you very much, and when Jeff grinned, Byron grinned back. 

It wasn’t until everyone started gathering papers and books and getting up out of their chairs that Byron even realised that the class was over: he hadn’t taken a single note and he certainly hadn’t heard a single word the professor had had to say. 

Somehow, he didn’t care at all. 

Jeff turned to Byron and deadpanned, “I don’t think I’ve ever learned so much from one class before.” 

Byron tried to return the tone, but there was too much laughter in his voice. “I know a lot more about film now.”

“Byron freaking Pike.” 

“Jeff freaking Schafer.” 

Jeff’s new smile was lazy; he tracked Byron’s eyes with his own. “You’re gonna tan.” 

“You’re not gonna laugh at me when I do,” Byron countered, and was rewarded with Jeff’s laugh which, a little mushily, Byron thought sounded like California sunshine. 

“Let’s find out. Beach on Saturday?” Jeff asked as he stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder with a kind of ease and confidence Byron would kill to have. 

Byron nodded, gathering up The Notebook, and looked down at it to try and disguise the eagerness of his smile. “I’m there.”

And in that moment, that Jeff-loping-away-with-a-wave-moment, Byron understood something so clearly: he might not have even thought of Jeff enough in the last seven years to make him any kind of factor in his college choice, but he was now the only reason Byron was there.

*  
 _fin_


End file.
